From What the Living Do by Marie Howe
Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down
there.
And the Drano won't work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up
waiting for the plumber I still haven't...
by David Baker
my neighbors
say, when what they mean
are deer—the foragers, the few at a time, fair
if little more
than rats, according to
a farmer friend nearby, whose corn means plenty.
They nip the peaches,
and one bite...
Neighbor children run back and forth across the yards, feign a collective scream at the sound of me as I open the front windows, all giggles as they reach their porch again, their home. I stand close to the window and breathe, the sound of traffic...
